


Ethereal Moon

by InsolitaParvaPuella



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alcohol, Baked Goods, Bisexual Female Character, Bisexual Male Character, Crushes, Dessert & Sweets, Drinking Games, F/F, F/M, Food, Friendship, Headcanon, Heart-to-Heart, Inspired by The Great British Bake Off, Julkalendar, Kissing, Love Triangles, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sharing a Bed, Slice of Life, Spoilers for Flayn and Seteth's paralogue, Tea, Teen Romance, Teenage Drama, Unresolved Sexual Tension, author/food otp
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:41:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21636796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsolitaParvaPuella/pseuds/InsolitaParvaPuella
Summary: The day-to-day lives of the students of Garreg Mach during the Ethereal Moon of 1180.
Relationships: Annette Fantine Dominic/Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Annette Fantine Dominic/Mercedes von Martritz, Ashe Duran | Ashe Ubert/Ingrid Brandl Galatea, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/My Unit | Byleth, Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier, Flayn & Seteth (Fire Emblem), Sylvain Jose Gautier/Mercedes von Martritz
Comments: 8
Kudos: 53





	1. 1st Day of the Ethereal Moon

**Author's Note:**

> a julkalendar is a swedish (and other countries) tradition in which a complete story is told one episode per day from december 1st to 25th on television or radio. i live in sweden now, so i thought i would take this neat cultural tradition and do fanfic with it. we'll see if i manage to actually post a part per day, i have got one fuck of a schedule ahead of me. but ambition is fun!
> 
> this fic will contain more characters and ships as time goes on, but i don't want to add them until they appear in the fic. if there are ships you 100% cannot stand there will a list of all the involved ships at the bottom, hidden by a spoiler thingy.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleth and Jeralt go out for dinner on Alois' birthday. Ashe and Ingrid spend some time in the library.

After the horrors at Remire Village, Byleth hoped for a peaceful month. Her Blue Lions certainly deserved some peace and quiet, and she was determined to give it to them. Her students were back to their studies for the first full day since the battle at Remire and Byleth had chosen to take the week to do revisions and check up on the students’ growth. Today had been nothing but simple revisions of the last month’s lectures, and the Lions seemed glad for it.

She stacked her notebooks up, then swept her black woolen shawl over her shoulders. It would be enough to protect her from the cold and snow while she walked back to her room. Gathering her books to her chest, Byleth took in a deep, bracing breath and walked purposefully from her desk to the classroom doors. She shoved them open with her shoulder and winced as the cold air rushed around her. She nearly slammed the door closed behind her. The sun had made her optimistic about the temperature that morning and fooled her into wearing a knee-length skirt and long wool socks instead of her proper winter trousers. 

Byleth hunched over her books and made a quick pace back to the dormitories. None of the students were out and about at the moment. The sudden cold snap in an already cold winter had driven them all inside the monastery or dorms. After fumbling with her keys, Byleth shoved her way into her room and shut the door hard. The room was cool, but compared with the sharp chill outside this was entirely tolerable. And she suspected, though she had never checked, that the pipes that brought the hot water to the bathhouse ran under the dorms. The floors were always just a little warmer than she believed was normal.

There was a letter on her desk that she hadn’t expected. She tried to identify the script while she peeled off her boots and stepped into slippers (her boots were set on a little woven carpet so they would not melt snow all over her floors) but it was at an awkward angle.

Only a few people besides her had keys to the dormitories. Cyril often had a set of keys on him, but he could have delivered the letter directly when he came to the afternoon class, after his chores were done. Seteth likely had control of those keys when Cyril wasn’t running about with them, but he was not the sort to enter her room without invitation, and he had no qualms against interrupting her class for important matters, like delivering a message.

She carried a set of keys, of course, so she could check on students if something went wrong, but those keys were on her belt. The last set belonged to the Knights of Seiros, and it was almost certainly that set that had been used. She stepped towards her desk and saw her father’s penmanship, clear as day. The envelope had been addressed to “Kid”.

Byleth smiled softly. Her father could be such a silly man. He could have easily stopped her during the lunch break or poked into the classroom to deliver his message. But he always insisted he didn’t like interfering or interrupting her teaching, no matter how much she reassured him that the students admired him and would not mind such an interruption.

The letter was one of her father’s regular invitations to dine in town, something they did every so often for the fun of it. Although this time, Byleth was pretty sure her father wanted to check on her, to ensure she was okay after Remire. And then, at the bottom of the letter, she saw a few surprising lines.

_‘Since today is Alois’ birthday I have invited him to dine with us. You can decline if you want, kiddo, and no gifts are necessary. I’ll be at the gate at 17.00 to meet you._

_‘Dad’_

She hadn’t known it was Alois’ birthday! She had received a list of all the students’ birthdays when she started, but she had found out about the knights’ and staff birthdays through regular gossip, or just flat-out asking. Well, she couldn’t miss this dinner for anything! Everything Alois had mentioned to her about his relationship with her father made her more and more curious. 

With an hour and some to spare before she would have to face the cold again, Byleth did some busywork. Her desk was a nightmare she dared not confront, but her shelves and drawers were cluttered in a way she could manage. She rearranged her things, finally getting her tea set in order.

At half five she changed into her woolen tights and then thick trousers over those. She slipped her boots on and shrugged on her warm sheepskin coat. She pulled her scarf and mittens from her pocket and wrapped herself up, finishing off with a pair of earmuffs. It felt silly, but it had just gotten so damned cold so suddenly.

She locked her door behind her as she left and made haste past the dorms. All the students wandering about had packed the snow that covered everything into a slightly slippery trail where the dirt path usually was. Elsewhere, the fluffy snow was piled nearly as high as her knees. It looked beautiful in the golden hour, but Byleth wasn’t particularly in an artistic mood. She made a beeline for the greenhouse.

It was warm and humid there, but Byleth only stripped off her gloves and marched to her patch of dirt. She had been trying to grow roses, mostly for the challenge, but they weren’t remotely close to ready. She took the pair of garden shears the greenhouse keeper handed her and clipped some lilies instead. 

“Thanks, Eimear,” Byleth said, standing up with a groan.

“Whose birthday is it this time?” asked the young woman, taking back the shears and bouncing them in her hand. 

“Alois, one of the knights. He’s a friend of my father’s.” She sighed and looked over Eimear. There were days she envied the gardener’s workplace, especially since snow had fallen. Then again, she also worked here in the summers, which sounded like a unique hell. And she was the one to climb the rickety ladder and sweep the snow off the greenhouse windows with a broom. Byleth wasn’t sure the warmth of the greenhouse in the winter was enough to make up for those tasks.

“I’ll be back in a few days,” Byleth promised, waving as she left the greenhouse. Eimear had been a no-nonsense teacher in all matters botanical, and she was a friendly dinner companion. Between her and Byleth’s favourite gatekeeper, Elliott, the three of them had made a fun little dining club once a week, socialising over Garreg Mach’s excellent meals.

The shift from hot and humid to cold and dry was miserable, so Byleth jammed her mittens on quickly. She hurried past the pond, frozen over and only useful for ice fishing (and skating, though she had yet to try that) at this point. She carefully walked down the icy stairs, and was at the monastery gate before five. Her father showed up a minute later. He was wearing a hat that covered his ears, and mittens, and a scarf, but he was annoyingly impervious to the cold and hardly bundled up at all in comparison. 

“Flowers for me? You shouldn’t have,” he teased, patting her head. Byleth buried her face in her scarf and glared up at her father. He laughed and the two of them started walking.

The village Garreg Mach laid only a short distance away, though the entirety of the route was mountain and hillside, with a well-trodden path that was still… rough, was the kindest word Byleth could think of. At least with the snow and ice to make every step just that bit more perilous. 

There were three pubs in Garreg Mach: one liked for its excellent menu, one liked for its selection of alcohol, and Jeralt’s favourite. He claimed to like the company best there. Byleth followed him without comment, though she personally had come to favour the other pubs.

Walking in from the cold, the warm air swept around them and Byleth could feel her eyelashes thaw. She did not much care for the sensation, but she stripped off her mittens, scarf, and hat and stuffed them in her deep coat pockets. Sensation was returning to her skin by the second. As soon as her nose no longer ached she took in a deep breath, taking in the warm smell of the hearth and the beer and ales in every hand.

They found a table and Byleth left her coat on the back of a third chair, claiming it for Alois. He would be here soon enough, so it didn’t feel rude to order drinks ahead of his arrival. Byleth nursed a mug of warm mead, enjoying the heat of it uncoiling in her belly as much as the warmth of the alcohol, while her father was drinking something rather stronger.

Byleth looked at her father and saw a thoughtful expression on his face. 

“Your students, are they less shaken up now?” he asked. She nodded slowly.

“It was not their first brush with the unkindness of the world,” she said. “And I will be giving them a restful week.”

“And are you less shaken up?” Jeralt continued.

Byleth nodded again, but didn’t say anything. The horrors at Remire Village were worse than anything she had seen before, but the soft voice of Sothis in her dreams had kept away her night terrors, and she had dined with her father and friends more frequently since. It was harder to be afraid when she was surrounded by people who cared for her. 

“I have so many questions about who Solon is, and why he would do something like this. But I am sleeping well, and I can still work.” She could feel her expression growing hard at the thought of Solon and his _experiment_ , but there was little she could do in the moment. She relaxed her shoulders and closed her eyes when her father set his hand on top of his head. 

“Captain!” called out Alois, shocking Byleth into opening her eyes. Jeralt took his hand away and the pair of them stood, waving Alois over. There were clumps of snow in his hair and his nose and cheeks were quite red. Byleth took her coat off the third chair and Alois took his seat.

“Happy birthday, Alois,” she said, offering him her hastily-cut lilies. 

“Oh ho, thank you, Professor,” Alois said, giving her a hearty guffaw. “I thought you might invite me for tea, but I think I rather like this.”

“I take tea with my students. I drink something harder with the teachers and knights,” she said, a hint of a smile turning her lip. 

“Well, I must say, as charming as your tea parties are, I don’t think I would make a good tea companion. Those little sweets are too small, you see.” He winked and Byleth let out a breath through her nose. “No, I’d much rather have a steak and beer with the Captain and Professor.”

As if on cue, a pretty barmaid came in to take their order and sashayed away. 

“How old does this make you now, Alois?” Jeralt asked conversationally. Byleth sipped her mead.

“Why Captain, do you have problems remembering everyone’s age? Surely you remember how old I was when I started squiring for you.”

“I don’t keep track of that sort of thing anymore,” he answered, getting a swig of his drink.

“Well, I’m forty-five years young today. And I am pleased we could dine together. My wife and daughter can’t celebrate until tomorrow, and who wants to drink alone on their birthday?” Alois laughed again. His drink arrived and he took a healthy swig of it. Byleth continued sipping her mead.

Conversation was light, asking after Emma and Elise (Alois’ wife and daughter) and how some of the newer knights were handling the cold snap. Byleth talked very little and watched. Her first impression had been that her father didn’t much enjoy Alois’ company, but that impression had been entirely replaced by a more accurate picture of their relationship. It was clear her father was feigning his weariness and Alois brushed past every sarcastic barb with the full confidence that they were not intended to cause harm.

“Have you met my girl, Elise, yet, Professor?” Alois asked, turning the conversation back to Byleth. She shook her head.

“Well, she is a little young to attend the Officer’s Academy, and has no interest in battle, but I suspect she would like you greatly. My Elise is very curious and loves to learn, after all.”

“I’d be happy to visit your family sometime soon. Perhaps after this cold snap,” Byleth offered. 

Alois laughed. “A capital idea!” he said. It was at that moment that their food arrived, and Byleth stopped thinking about anything except the fish pie laid before her. Alois had indeed ordered a steak, and her father was enjoying a roast of some sort, but Byleth had certainly picked the best item off the menu. The pie crust was flaky and tender, the fish buttery and moist, and the roasted vegetables on the side were a great pairing, adding a mellow sweetness to the dish.

She had nothing to say while she ate, only pausing every so often to savour the taste of dinner. She had gotten somewhat lost in the thoughts of her food, and so she was surprised when she turned back into the conversation and realised her father was asking her if her students were behaving themselves. 

“Of course,” she said. Certainly, Sylvain was a troublemaker, but her Lions caused much less chaos than the rowdy Eagles or Deer on average. 

“I wouldn’t expect them to remain so,” Alois said. “Everyone says the Garland Moon is the season for romance, but I know better. The cold weather and long nights make everyone more aware of their feelings. I proposed to my Emma during the Ethereal Moon sixteen years ago. And I’ve heard the Archbishop may have some plans in the near future.”

“Plans?” Byleth asked.

“I can’t say much, only that I expect the students will greatly enjoy it. If the rumours are true, I’ll see if I can have Emma and Elise come to the monastery.” Byleth was immediately curious, but Alois was already continuing to talk about his family and inviting her and Jeralt to visit them some time next week.

When dinner was over and their little party of three had enjoyed dessert (Byleth enjoyed an apple crumble-pie with sweetened cream on the side) and a few more drinks, it was very late. They trudged up the hill to the monastery wrapped up in scarves and hats. Byleth’s nose turned to ice soon into their walk, but the alcohol in her veins and the hot mead in her belly were keeping her warmer this time. 

She walked with her father and Alois through the marketplace and into the entrance hall, cutting through it to avoid the wind for a few minutes. When they exited the hall Byleth bid the men goodnight, wishing Alois a happy birthday one last time. She gave her father a nod, holding eye contact with him. She was fine, she would continue to be fine. They went right, towards the knights’ quarters. She went left, cutting through the gardens towards the dorms. 

Wrapping her arms around herself, Byleth hurried up to her room, but stopped only a few doors away. Someone was wrapped tight in a blanket and standing in front of Ashe’s door.

“Are you alright?” Byleth called. 

“Oh! Professor!” squeaked Ingrid. Byleth must have caught her off-guard, Ingrid never sounded this surprised. “I’m alright. I’m just heading to bed now. Good night!”

“Good night, Ingrid,” she answered, keeping a careful eye on Ingrid’s form as she jogged away and down the stairs. When Byleth didn’t hear her slip or fall, she went to her room. Ingrid’s behaviour was a little unusual, but she would have said something if there was a problem or Ashe was unwell. Byleth didn’t have to worry herself about it. Her main concern would be getting to bed as soon as possible.

-.-

After dinner, Ashe went to the library to get another hour or two of studying in. The Professor was giving them a week of revision, but he wanted to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything in the chaos of the last few months. He did make a quick stop at his dorm room first, grabbing a heavy wool blanket that he took with him. The library was not the coldest part of the monastery (no windows to let the cold through helped a great deal), but in this cold snap the only tolerably warm rooms were the classrooms and the dining hall. Everywhere else was freezing.

Ashe huddled near a candle under his blanket, reading a historical text on the battles for Leicester independence. He was pretty sure he knew this material, but he figured it wouldn't hurt to double-check. Then he could dive into the book of folk stories he found without guilt.

Next time Ashe would find the heating pan and warm it and some stones on the classroom hearth, if this dreadful cold lingered. Then at least he could keep his feet warm, tucking them into the layers of protective fabric. But the chill did keep him awake, and he was able to stay just on the right side of comfortable long enough to stay focused.

The book of history was placed to the side when he looked up and noticed Ingrid sitting on the other end of the table, wearing the winter uniform and some gloves but no extra sources of protection. She was shivering and her lips were looking a little blue.

“Ingrid,” Ashe said impulsively. She looked up and smiled softly at him. Ashe’s stomach did a few flips. Ingrid’s smile, especially when directed at him, was so pretty it made him a little giddy. He opened his arms, holding the blanket out in an obvious invitation. “We don’t want to catch a cold in this weather, right?” he asked.

Ingrid didn’t hesitate, standing up and resettling herself and her books next to Ashe. “Thanks,” she said, a shiver keeping her words short and soft. They pressed their chairs together and sat hip-to-hip and shoulder-to-shoulder. Ashe spread the blanket along her shoulders and she pulled it tight around her. The blanket wasn’t quite large enough to go completely around them, but Ashe and Ingrid sat as close as they could and leaned over their books.

Ashe kept his focus on his book. These folktales came from Leicester, but originated from before it had split from Faerghus, so there were a lot of interesting similarities. The Tale of the Swan Maidens had a lot of similarities to the Tale of the Wolf-Girl, with a cloak of feathers stolen while the girls were bathing instead of a wolf pelt taken while the tribe of wolf-men danced at a bonfire. 

A lot of fairy stories and folktales from Faerghus had a romantic element, but the Leicester stories leaned into the romance. The Tale of the Wolf-Girl had a moment of true love and then finished with a wedding, but the Swan Maiden was wooed with pretty poetry and notably lost the title of “maiden” midway through the story. Ashe flushed at his little discovery and spared a glance at Ingrid. She was completely engrossed in her own book. She probably hadn’t done more than glance at his book in passing when she sat down.

But Ashe had completely lost his focus. His cheeks were warm and Ingrid’s body made his whole right side feel hot and tingly. Maybe he was just imagining things, but he thought Ingrid even smelled kind of nice, this close to him. His heart was starting to pound in his chest. He hadn’t gotten this flustered reading a romantic story in years, but now all he could focus on were the fine wisps of hair at the base of her neck that had escaped her braid. 

Ingrid closed her book and turned to Ashe. Her tongue poked out between her lips for a moment. Then she said, “Ashe?” in a low voice. He felt his cheeks get hot and he wasn’t sure he could talk. He’d always thought Ingrid was amazing, like a character from a fairy tale. She’d gotten him flushed and thinking warm thoughts about her before with a sweet comment or quick touch. And Ashe had thought that one day he’d get over his crush, but he was realising that there was no chance of that. Not when Ingrid’s eyes were so pretty and there was pink blossoming in her cheeks. She turned towards him, just a little, and they were crushed together. Ingrid tilted her head, just a little. Her eyes flicked down for a moment. Was she examining his lips? Ashe’s heart was in his throat, but he was moving before fear could stop him.

His eyes fluttered closed and something sharp and bright burst in his chest. Ingrid was so warm and soft, and kissing her felt like a dream. Ashe was certain he was dreaming. She kissed him back, and her arms went around him, and even though the blanket slipped from his shoulders, Ashe felt hot all over.

The sound of a guard making rounds (both for danger and for teenagers fooling around) stirred Ashe from his haze. He was drunk on happiness, beyond blissed out. He could still feel Ingrid’s hands in his hair and the feeling of her strong waist under his hands. That had been ten minutes of _very_ thorough kissing. He and Ingrid looked at each other and Ashe’s sheepish smile turned into a full-on grin as he saw Ingrid smile back.

They didn’t say anything while they wrapped up together under the blanket and hurried out of the library. Ashe couldn’t help the giggle that burst from his throat as they booked it across the icy courtyard. The wind was biting and the winter uniform was not enough protection, but the moon was bright above and _Ingrid kissed him back!_

And she laughed alongside him. It felt like a game, running as fast as they could to the dorms. They halted at his door and he fumbled it open with cold-numbed hands. He stepped into his room and smiled bashfully. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” he asked.

“Of course,” Ingrid said, and her eyes were full of starlight. Ashe could’ve swooned at the vision of her in the cold moonlight.

“Keep the blanket. Don’t want you to freeze,” he said. He was horribly cold and Ingrid’s nose was turning red but he didn’t want to close the door. Then he would be alone in his bed with his thoughts running wild. But he couldn’t invite Ingrid in at this time of night. It wouldn’t be proper. So he did the only thing he could think of. He pressed a quick kiss to her smile.

“Sweet dreams,” he wished her. And with all his willpower, he closed his door. And he didn’t fall asleep for at least an hour, thinking again and again of how soft Ingrid’s hair was, and how nice she smelled, and how the hard calluses on her palms felt on the back of his neck. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> code brazenly stolen from josephina_x's marvellous [Quick and Dirty HTML Reference for AO3](https://archiveofourown.org/works/952658/chapters/7044920)
> 
> !  
>  **SPOILERS WITHIN!**  
> ! <\-- Mouse-over this text to find out what ships are incoming (with apologies to mobile users!).


	2. 2nd Day of the Ethereal Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Annette, Ashe, and Mercedes get involved in a plot. Dimitri helps the Professor haul a piano. Felix gets distracted in the dark magic study group.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> time to add dimileth, annette's big old crush on mercedes, and felix's bisexual crisis to the mix. in case it's not clear, this fic is about twelve subplots tied together, without a real main plot (except excitement about the ball, i guess?). i wanted to write some silly teenage romantic drama, so you're getting silly teenage romantic drama. it's a real change of pace after kinktober, believe me.

Annette was standing in the lunch line with Ashe and Mercedes. She was hungry, lunch smelled delicious, and all she could think about was food. And the same could be said about her friends. The three of them had gotten into a conversation about baking. Annette was as enthusiastic about cooking as anything else, but Mercedes and Ashe were the real talents in the kitchen, and she loved hearing them discuss the matter. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever had sweets from Dedue,” Ashe was saying. “He’s amazing in the kitchen, but he’s only ever shown me savoury dishes.”

“His dried tomato buns are incredible,” Mercedes said, “but that’s the closest we’ve gotten to sweets.”

Annette had a thought she wanted to share, but she didn't have a chance before Claude leaned over her and interrupted the conversation.

"Seems like all cooking enthusiasts are Blue Lions. That's a little unfair." He pouted, which Annette saw as she stepped to the side to let him into the conversation properly.

"Unfair?" Ashe said, furrowing his brows as he tried to parse Claude's statement.

"I bet you guys share your snacks with the other Lions all the time," Claude said. He dialled up the melodrama as he continued, "No treats for us Deer or Eagles."

"Oh, I never meant to leave you out, Claude. I'll make enough for everyone next time," Mercedes promised. But Claude winked.

"Actually, I think I have a better idea. How about we have a feast of sweets? You Lion chefs can cook up some treats and everyone can get together to enjoy them. Maybe we can even have a little contest." Annette frowned just a little. This sounded less like a brainwave and more like a plot. But Ashe’s brows unfurrowed and Mercedes looked intrigued. 

“I’m not sure I could arrange a feast of sweets, but it does sound like fun,” she said.

“Leave the arranging to me and I’ll leave the baking to you,” Claude said with a wink, stepping out of the conversation as the lunch line shuffled forward. “Once you know who’s going to bake, come talk to me. Hopefully we can have the feast on Friday.”

Annette stepped back next to Mercedes. “Claude does love feasting,” she said, hoping that was his only motivation. She looked to Ashe, who was distracted. He was making eyes at Ingrid again. His crush was incredibly obvious and sweet, and the only reason Annette didn’t comment on it (it was so cute!) was because she didn’t want him to comment on _her_ obvious crush.

“What do you think you’re going to make, Ashe?” Annette asked, bringing his attention back to them. He tore his eyes away from Ingrid and she could see him trying to remember exactly what they were talking about. He’d only drifted off for a moment, but he must have gotten so lost in his thoughts.

"Maybe I'll make something my little sister would like. Her birthday is coming up soon," he said. Ashe rarely mentioned his siblings, and Annette sometimes wondered why. But now that the subject was open, she couldn't help following her curiosity. 

"How old is your sister?" she asked.

"She's turning eleven," Ashe answered, looking almost surprised, "and my brother is thirteen."

"They must miss you dearly," Mercedes said. She set a hand on Ashe's shoulder and gave him a sympathetic look.

"I miss them a lot, so I don't talk about them much," Ashe said in a low voice. Mercedes got the hint and withdrew her hand.

"I learned a lot of Adrestian recipes, maybe I should try baking those for the feast," Mercedes said. And the mention of recipes Ashe might not know got his attention. He and Mercedes started discussing the differences in sweets between the two countries, and Annette listened keenly, always eager to learn more. And, well, if she wasn't already smitten with Mercedes then the consideration she showed Ashe would probably be enough to convince her. Maybe her face got soft as she looked up at Mercedes and maybe Ashe noticed for a moment, but Annette decided not to worry. She was far too interested in the idea of "lamination" to worry.

-.-

"Thanks for the hand," the Professor said, leading Dimitri into a seldom-used hall of the monastery. They were outside the bounds of the Officers Academy and into the monastery proper. The Professor had asked for some help with heavy lifting, and Dimitri was hardly going to say no when he was capable of helping.

"I'm always happy to help, Professor," he said, still following. He was being careful not to stare at her dark hair and marvel at how _small_ she was, lest he lose his step on the uneven floors. "I do wonder, what does Seteth want with a pianoforte?"

"I didn't ask," the Professor said. "He just said he wanted it to be available for students to play. I didn't know any of the students _could_ play."

"It's common for nobles to get some education in the arts. I doubt anyone has the skill of Professor Manuela or Dorothea, but there are probably some musicians in our ranks."

“Do you play any instruments?” the Professor asked, looking over her shoulder for a moment. 

Dimitri couldn't help the flush that darkened his cheeks. "I'm afraid I never had any talent for music," he said. "I know the important hymns, but I've never been much of a singer."

The Professor was quiet after his admission. They strolled through the halls for a minute longer before she unlocked and shoved open a door (she always slammed into doors with her left shoulder, even when they opened easily, Dimitri had noticed). The room was cold and dark, but the remaining feeble daylight was enough to illuminate the pianoforte and its canvas covering.

"I never learned about music, but I have always liked it," the Professor said, her voice soft and thoughtful. "When I heard musicians I always felt an urge to sing and dance, but I never knew how."

Dimitri could feel something soft and light in his chest. It was like a poplar seed, tickling the inside of his throat and making his breath go shallow. He didn't dare say anything, so he stepped around to the back side of the pianoforte and took hold.

"Just a moment," the Professor said. Her gaze was fixed on the canvas, but her mind was somewhere far away. Perhaps she was caught up in a memory. She pulled aside the canvas and lifted the pianoforte's lid. Dimitri couldn't see the keys, so he watched the Professor's face. Her eyes glanced over them as if she was reading them.

Then she must have pressed a key, for a clear note rang out in the cold air. Dimitri saw a light come into the Professor's eyes as the sound lingered a moment. His stomach lurched. The look on her face was almost as arresting as her smile.

And then she put away that expression while she lowered the lid and set the canvas into place. Together they hoisted the piano onto the upper floor of the entrance hall and peeled off the canvas covering. Dimitri swept away a little dust and the Professor examined the keys once more.

"Oh!" gasped Professor Manuela, walking up to them. "When I said I hoped the pianoforte could be available I wasn't trying to drop hints, Professor." She ran her fingers over the keys, standing close to the Professor.

"Seteth asked me to bring it out," the Professor explained. Manuela played a scale. Dimitri was no expert, but the pianoforte sounded as lovely as any he'd heard.

"I suppose I owe him my thanks, then," Professor Manuela said. "This does make rehearsals so much easier to manage."

"Rehearsals?" Dimitri asked. He hadn't known Garreg Mach had a musical program beyond the cathedral choir.

"Some of the students have made a little ensemble, and they asked me to help direct them." Professor Manuela pulled her winter cloak tighter to her and shivered. "Hopefully this cold snap is over before the next meeting. Speaking of, Professor, I have something I want to talk to you about. Do you have a minute?"

The professors disappeared into the dining hall, discussing an upcoming joint lecture. Before she was too far away, the Professor turned back.

"Thank you for helping me with this. Hopefully we can enjoy the fruits of our labour soon." There was something bright and soft in her eyes, even if no smile crossed her lips, and Dimitri could only just stammer out a reply. Then the Professor walked away and Dimitri took a moment to think on how the sound of a single note had made her glow.

-.-

The Professor had announced a week of revision and Felix had known without anyone saying anything that the rest of the Blue Lions were recovering from what they saw in Remire Village. And maybe that was enough for them, but Felix would rather work himself hard. 

Thankfully, he didn't have to brave the cold to find something to do. He hefted some textbooks from her dorm into the dining hall (cursing the cold under his breath) and joined Lysithea, Hubert, and Annette at a table. Annette had organised them into a little study group, since the four of them were focusing heavily on reason magic for the season. Felix was the least adept in reason magic of the four of them due to his late start. The Professor had essentially forced him to learn reason for a month before he started willingly pursuing it himself. Now keeping up with the other three mages was a satisfying challenge.

Felix took a seat and couldn't help his smirk. Lysithea was bundled in a coat and scarf and was pouting a little. None of the Deer or Eagles were handling the cold as well as the Blue Lions, and even they were suffering in the cold snap. Lysithea looked like a tiny doll, wrapped in wool and fur. Hubert was only slightly more dignified. At least he wasn't wearing mittens.

Lysithea pawed at her textbook until it fell open to the right page. She started reading out the dense text, offering an interpretation of the logic behind the spell. Reason magic was as much a logic puzzle that described the elements as an incantation that invoked them, and understanding them was key to using them effectively. Felix liked working through these puzzles, and while he couldn’t cast spells without understanding them himself, the others in the group could help lead him to understanding.

Lysithea had the keenest mind of them, although until recently she had been an awful teacher. Even now, she could only explain her thought process and guide the rest of them through it slowly, like she was teaching them the very basics of logical thinking. Still, it was a sight better than her explaining her complex conclusions without explaining her logical process.

“Sorry!” chirped Annette, pulling Felix’s attention from the textbook. She was jogging to the table, red-cheeked and red-nosed and her curls bouncing with each step. Something about the winter chill had made her eyes bright. Felix wondered for a moment if she had been humming a little tune about the cold weather. She’d sung about everything else. 

“I was almost here, but then I noticed I left my textbook in my room,” she said, dropping her book on the table and peeling off her scarf and mittens. She pulled off her coat as well and set it on the seat next to her as she settled in beside Lysithea.

Their discussion got more lively now that Annette was there. She came at magic from a different angle from Lysithea, so while they would come to similar logical conclusions and produce similar magic, the routes of thought they took were entirely different. When Lysithea laid out the basic rules she followed when puzzling out her spell Annette cut in to question one of them. 

It was never an argument, even if Lysithea sometimes disliked the implication she was wrong. Annette only explained where her thought process came from and the two of them talked through things. Felix tried listening intently. These debates were usually how he figured out more complicated lines of logic. Annette was tracing out her line of thinking on the textbook, her delicate fingers tracing a loop on the paper. Her fingernails were long and clean. 

It took Felix a worryingly long time to bring his attention back to what they were talking about. His ears were starting to feel hot. He hadn’t gotten distracted like this in years. He furrowed his brows. He didn’t need a distraction now. Annette glanced over at him and her face fell.

“What is it, Felix?” she asked, sounding a little annoyed. For a moment, he was tongue-tied. There was something in the back of his mind he was attempting to ignore. 

“Nothing,” he said, glancing down to his textbook. He didn’t peek up to see Annette’s reaction. He was too caught up in his own worries. He’d only _just_ come to terms with his feelings for Sylvain, and now this?


	3. 3rd Day of the Ethereal Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Flayn talks with Seteth over soup, Mercedes talks to Sylvain about sweet rolls, and Byleth goes on a recruiting mission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> man i spend most of my recent days talking swedish so lemme know if my english is going funny.
> 
> i hope y'all are enjoying this adventure so far. i promise there will be more teen drama as we progress, but for now everyone is talking about baking (okay, i think sylvain and mercedes did a little not-serious flirting. a little). lots more romance tomorrow.

Before the Professor arrived to begin the morning’s class, the Blue Lions were already gathered in the classroom. The two hearths had been warming the classroom since early that morning, hours before sunrise, and so it was significantly warmer than any of the dorms during this dreadful cold snap. Even Flayn, who lived in the more comfortable quarters granted to those who worked for the Church, was quick to make it to the classroom, bundled up in every piece of winter clothing she owned.

As she tugged off her mittens with her teeth, she saw everyone gather around Mercedes’ seat. She walked up to them and they opened a space for her.

"So Claude is throwing a baking contest?" asked Sylvain.

"Well, he mentioned it could be a competition, but he didn't say anything about prizes. More like a feast of sweets. Ashe and I will be baking, did anyone else want to join in?" Mercedes said. She looked completely serene, but Flayn nearly jumped up in excitement.

"Oh, yes!" she squeaked, her face splitting into a delighted grin. "I would love to bake for a feast of sweets!" 

Mercedes smiled up at her. "The more, the merrier!" she said in her sing-songy way. "Dedue, would you also like to join us? You're such a talented cook, I think everyone would enjoy your baking." 

Flayn looked up at Dedue, who was a little flushed. _Was it the compliment or the cold?_ , she wondered, delighting in his bashful expression. Dedue's face was always so stern that her stomach did flips when she saw his expression soften in any way.

"I—"

"Please join us in the feast, Dedue!" pleaded Flayn before she could think to stop herself. He was so shy sometimes, she didn't want him to think himself unwanted in their game.

"I suppose I could," he said, glancing down at Flayn. Her smile got a little wider when their eyes met, but he looked away back to Mercedes before she could say anything. "Claude wanted this on Friday, you said?"

"Yes, he thought that would be a good day. I'll tell him who's participating at dinner tonight. Hopefully that will give him enough time to plan."

"I wouldn't be surprised if Claude's already guessed who's baking and started planning," Ingrid said, her brow furrowed. Flayn had seen Ingrid and Claude interact on occasion, they didn't seem to get along. It made sense to Flayn, who did like to think about these things.

"What will we be baking?" Flayn asked, getting excited. 

"For a feast, it'll have to be a lot of food," Ashe said. "And a lot of different things." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

"I was thinking of making some cookies, sweet buns, and a cake myself," said Mercedes. In the little huddle Flayn could hear Ingrid make a happy little noise. "I'll ask Claude what he thinks would be best."

The Professor strolled into the room and their little throng dispersed. Flayn settled into her seat and flipped open her notebook. The Professor's decision to have a revision week had given her relief. Now she could be absolutely certain that she hadn't been left behind by entering late.

When the morning lesson had concluded with a little demonstration from Felix on the standard sword stances in Fódlan the Professor dismissed everyone.

"Ashe, Annette, would you like to have lunch with me?" asked the Professor. Flayn smothered a hint of disappointment. The Professor was careful not to favour any specific student, but dividing her attention ten ways always left Flayn feeling a little deprived of her attention.

At any rate, this gave her a chance to seek advice about the upcoming feast of sweets. She tidied her place, pulled on her winter clothes, and left her things in the classroom. It was not as though anyone had cause to take it. She walked with the other Blue Lions to the dining hall, the gang of them jogging in the crisp air to get to the warmth of the dining hall as soon as possible.

When Flayn had retrieved her lunch of hot, creamy potato leek soup (topped with what seemed to be bits of bacon and a little cheese) with an herb-filled roll she glanced across the dining hall. At the far end of the hall her father was sitting by himself, looking through some papers.

For a moment she hesitated. Hadn't she been clear that she wanted more independence in her student life? Then again, it was hardly a failing to seek advice from someone who knew more than her. And her father did have a greater aptitude in the kitchen than her. Her mind made up, walked with purpose through the hall and seated herself across from her father.

"Flayn!" he said, looking rather surprised. "Is something the matter?"

"Nothing is wrong, Brother," she answered. "I… was hoping to get some advice, if you have time." She dropped her spoon into her soup and stirred it a little.

"Of course, Flayn. I was going to meet with Professor Manuela, but I always have time for you." Her father brought his papers together into a stack and set them aside. "What can I help you with?"

Flayn wondered for a moment if the feast of sweets was meant to be a secret. Perhaps it would be best not to speak about it directly, she decided.

"I was hoping to bake some treats, as a way to express gratitude for my friends. But I am not sure what I should make." She fidgeted a little with her spoon before taking a sip of the soup. Delicious as always.

"I'm certain your friends already know how much you value them,” her father said. 

“Yes, but I wish to demonstrate that with gifts of food!” Flayn said back. She set her spoon down. “I am certain you know recipes that could help me show my appreciation. And… I want them to be impressed by my work. I know I am not the most popular chef.” It was rather disheartening, if she was being honest with herself.

“Flayn…” her father said. His expression was soft, the way it always got when he worried if he was doing right by her. Oh, she wished she had waited until the evening, when she could find a private moment to admit these feelings of inadequacy! She wanted very badly to have her father, not big brother, with her. 

“How would you feel about using your mother’s biscuit recipe? It’s a simple one, and it goes very well with tea and other sweets.” He smiled gently at her. Flayn beamed. She had tried her hand at that biscuit recipe on more than one occasion, and it was amongst her favourites to make and eat. 

“I would like that very much, Brother!” she said, feeling full of good cheer.

“Would like what?” said a voice. Flayn twisted in her spot and saw Professor Manuela there.

“Professor! I was thinking of what I should bake to show my classmates my esteem.” The explanation was feeling more and more genuine. Leaving out mention of the feast of sweets was feeling more like a lie of omission than a true cover-up. And Flayn did not want to lie to Manuela. Though there were not especially close, Flayn felt a certain connection between them from their encounter with the Death Knight that she did not want to dishonour with unnecessary lies.

“What a sweet gesture,” Manuela said, laughing at her own joke a little. Her father chuckled a little too, to Flayn’s surprise. “Well, if you need any help, feel free to ask. I may be a little disorganised, but I do know my way around a kitchen.” She winked.

“Thank you, Professor,” Flayn said with a bow of her head. 

“Well, Seteth, I can see you have some excellent company, so how about we meet up this evening? Nothing we have to talk about will need to be done before dinner, right?”

Flayn’s father agreed. “That sounds fine. I’ll see you in my office for dinner.” Manuela waved her fingers to them both and sashayed away.

“I hope I wasn’t interrupting anything important, Brother,” Flayn said. She did her best to not interfere with her father’s work, but she was not always successful.

“No, don’t worry, Flayn. I think this will work out better for both of us,” he answered. “Now, let’s enjoy this excellent soup, shall we?”

-.-

She must have gotten distracted during class, as Mercedes completely missed the Professor saying class was dismissed for the day. She only knew it was time for their lessons to be over by the sunset turning everything red-gold. It was one of the more peculiar parts of winter in the north. The sun began setting in the early afternoon and it would be dark before dinner. 

She looked down at her notes and was reminded of where her thoughts had wandered. She had been considering what her contribution to the feast of sweets was going to be. Some sort of cookie, some sort of sweet roll, and some kind of cake was a rather vague idea to build a feast on.

Mercedes shivered. The door must be ajar, it was letting a draft in. The cold air rolled around her ankles and she could feel the nasty chill even through her best winter stockings. 

"You coming, Mercedes?" asked Sylvain from the doorway.

"In a minute," she called back, starting to gather her things. "I drifted off for a moment."

The door closed and she could hear Sylvain walking back down the aisle. "Can I give you a hand?" he asked, standing on the other side of the table. He leaned over her place at the table, looking at all her papers going higgilty-piggelty all over the table.

"Thank you, but I just need a moment."

"Alright, I'll wait and we can walk together," he said, leaning back against the table in front of hers. He was posing, putting on a casually cool look with his knee raised and arms crossed. Mercedes wondered if he posed like that automatically, or if he was doing it for her. The latter idea was sweetly amusing. She bent her head down over her papers to hide her little smile, then felt a little silly for presuming something like that. Sylvain was a naturally charmer, he probably leaned handsomely when he was speaking privately with Seteth.

"I was thinking of what I should make for the feast of sweets," she said, mostly to clear her mind. "I have so many ideas, but it's hard to decide what everyone would like best." She turned the paper she had been listing ideas on around so Sylvain could read it better.

"You have fantastic penmanship."

"Thank you." She got the last of her books stowed properly in her bag. She stood and saw Sylvain still examining her sheet of ideas. He hummed. It sounded like he had something he wanted to say.

"Is something the matter?" she asked.

"A cookies, a roll, and a cake, right?" Mercedes hummed an affirmative. "Well, don't take this the wrong way, but right now all your choices look a little… easy? Maybe mild is a better word." 

"I suppose I do like subtle flavours," she agreed. "I was thinking my ideas weren't quiet right for a feast, but I'm not sure how to make them more interesting."

"Well," said Sylvain, diving one hand into his pocket and free his other hand from his mitten with his teeth. He pulled a pencil from his pocket and started writing next to her ideas. "The cake already sounds really good. The cookies just need a little something. Maybe a decoration, or some sort of strong flavour?"

"I considered adding some powdered tea leaves to give them a subtle tea flavour, or maybe dipping them in chocolate."

"Chocolate would be excellent if the kitchen lets you use theirs," Sylvain said. He was writing all this down. "And the rolls. Your iced sweet buns are amazing, but you make them a lot. But you've written something here… fried?" He looked up at her.

"You've had deep fried dough before, Sylvain, I'm certain. I thought I could try frying my sweet rolls instead of baking them, then filling them with jam and icing them once they've cooled. I only thought it might be too ambitious."

"Mercedes, you're killing me here. You just described the most delicious food I've ever heard of, then said it might be _too ambitious_. You're the best baker of all of us. If anyone can make these, it's you." Sylvain was looking her right in the eye and Mercedes felt pinned in place. It was a nice, exciting feeling. The compliment made her blood rush to her cheeks.

"Did I get you to blush?" Sylvain said, lighting up. "I guess not even you are totally immune to my charms." He winked.

"You did just say some very nice things about me, I suppose I can blush a little this time," she said, picking up her bookbag. "I'll think about doing fried buns for the feast."

"Please," said Sylvain, offering his elbow. "Now that I know something like fried, jam-filled iced buns could exist in the world, I can't die happy until I've tried one."

Mercedes took Sylvain's arm and they walked together to the dorms.

"How about this," Sylvain said as they turned the first corner. "The feast of sweets is on Friday, right? How about we go out on Saturday and do a pub crawl, if the weather improves? All the Lions, except the Professor, Flayn, and Cyril. It'll be a nice, relaxed night out on the town."

"Can you do a pub crawl with only three pubs?" Mercedes asked. 

"If you're creative, sure,” Sylvain said, a hint of suggestion in his voice. Mercedes shoved his shoulder with hers. “Let me worry about that, you make sure those fried sweet rolls make me c— _scream_ with joy.”

Mercedes rolled her eyes and let go of Sylvain’s arm. Her dorm was near enough now. She smiled up at him momentarily before Sylvain took off for the village by himself. It was nice while it lasted.

-.-

As Byleth left the dining hall, Claude caught her by the arm just in front of the door. 

"Teach," he said, "I need a hand."

And that caught her attention. She and Claude had spoken on numerous occasions, but he had never asked her for anything beyond information. About herself, about her mysterious new sword, about wyverns (always about wyverns, never horses). Byleth had given him answers where she could, though she honestly didn't know very much about any of those subjects (though she could at least had study up on wyverns).

"What can I do?" she asked.

"We're planning a little baking contest on Friday, and I'm looking for some impartial judges. I'd ask you, but I'm pretty sure only the Blue Lions are baking, and I don't want to make you choose between your students." Claude finally let go of her arm and they stepped away from the door as Raphael, bracing for the cold, marched past them.

"Have you asked Lysithea? She likes sweets and has an excellent critical eye," she suggested.

"Lysithea is number one on my list, I'll ask her after I'm done with you," Claude said, giving her a playful wink.

"Linhardt likes sweets and isn't afraid to be honest," Byleth replied. "If he's interested, he would make a good judge. I can speak to him tomorrow."

"Excellent!" Claude said. "One Black Eagle, one Golden Deer. If we can find one more judge from the faculty then it'll represent the whole Officer's Academy. Can I leave that to you, Teach?" 

"Of course. If you don't mind me asking, why are you organising this?" Byleth set her finger to her chin. She didn't finish her thought, that it seemed out of character for Claude to organise a party for no apparent benefit.

"Well, it's cold and miserable, so hopefully a feast of sweets and friendly competition will lift some moods. It'll also promote unity in the houses, basically everyone likes sweets. And, if I'm being honest, I was craving something sweet." He winked again and patted Byleth's upper arm. She could feel the corners of her lips quirk up a little. "Thanks for the hand. Can't wait for Friday."

They went their separate ways and Byleth strode up to the faculty offices. If she was walking about twice as fast as normal, well, everyone was in the damned cold. When she finally made it to Hanneman's office she nearly collapsed into the waiting chair.

"So good to see you, Professor! You're right on time," Hanneman said. Once Byleth caught her breath, they discussed a plan B for their training exercise if the cold snap was over next week. When all was said and done, she figured there would be no harm in asking. 

“Professor Hanneman, I have a question.” She waited for him to tell her to continue. “The students are organising a baking competition and would like to have a member of the faculty help judge. Would you know who might be interested?”

“As a matter of fact, I do. Professor Manuela, as slovenly as she can be most days, is a very talented cook. If she’s free she would be an able judge. When is this competition?” Hanneman said. Normally when he talked about Manuela he was irritated. But for the first time, he was speaking about her with a certain softness to his voice. Byleth wasn’t sure she understood, but she would happily admit it was a nice change of pace.

“I’ll speak to her tomorrow,” Byleth said. She couldn’t think of a reason that Manuela would turn down the offer to take part in something as fun as a baking contest. Byleth was certainly going to attend, cheer on all participants, and eat her fill of delicious sweets. She only had to track down Linhardt and offer him the position.


	4. 4th Day of the Ethereal Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleth recruits Linhardt for a mission. Ingrid and Mercedes have a heart-to-heart about feelings. Annette and Felix pull some weed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lots of dialogue in this one, and it's short because that fuck of a schedule is really giving me a hard time. also, this fic is not complete. if y'all share ideas or speculation, i might be able to include it (with your permission and full acknowledgement, i'm not a monster). i got a lotta framework, but those details are not set in stone yet.

Over lunch, Byleth found Linhardt. She had two good reasons to track him down: the baking competition was foremost in her mind, but he’d also left some odd magical fishing bait near the monastery’s treasury. No one else in the faculty had been keen to take the wriggling, enchanted worm to him, so she carried it in her pocket during her morning lesson and dropped it in front of him during lunch. Linhardt was nose-deep in a heavy historical text, picking at his broiled fish and hardly noticed it.

“Thanks,” he said briefly. “I thought I’d lost it.”

“Linhardt,” Byleth said, her voice firm. She crossed her arms. Perhaps her posture could make her _sound_ more intimidating.

It seemed to work, although Byleth doubted she had even come close to intimidating Linhardt. He looked up from his book and seemed to finally register who he was speaking with.

"Professor, my apologies," he said. "This book has some fascinating historical anecdotes, I've been reading it all morning. Is there something I can do for you?"

Byleth uncrossed her arms. "Have you heard about the feast of sweets Claude is organizing?" she asked.

"Yes, Ashe asked Caspar and I if we wanted to bake on Friday for a feast. I wasn't interested."

"Well, we're looking for judges. Claude says it's going to be a competition. Feel like eating sweets and having opinions about them tomorrow?"

Linhardt turned back to his book. "I think you've convinced me, Professor. I'll see you there."

And, well, that ended the conversation quickly. Byleth left Linhardt to his book and turned her attention to lunch. She had Manuela and Linhardt, now she just had to speak to Claude and find out if Lysithea was willing to judge. Byleth had a difficult time imagining circumstances where Lysithea would turn down a chance to eat sweets.

-.-

Mercedes had no chores and only a small reading she wanted to get done before the day was over, so she retreated to her dorm for a few minutes of peace. She had just changed from her winter uniform stockings into heavy wool socks and draped her warmest blanket over her lap when there was a knock at the door.

"It's unlocked, please come in," she said. Anything to not have to get up.

Ingrid opened the door as little as possible, slipped in the gap she made, and slammed the door shut behind her. "Mercedes," she said. She looked as though she wasn't entirely sure she wanted to be there. 

“Is something the matter, Ingrid?” she asked. She turned in her chair, facing Ingrid fully as she dusted snowflakes off her coat. It must have started snowing, but Mercedes had her curtains mostly closed to keep in what little warmth her room had, so she had no way of being certain.

“I… don’t know where to start.” She folded her coat over her arm and wiggled her feet from her unlaced boots. 

“I know where we can start,” Mercedes said.

After about twenty minutes of awkward silence and the occasional exchanged word, Mercedes was pouring Ingrid a cup of tea. Ingrid sat on Mercedes’ bed, and Mercedes pulled her chair in close enough that they could have a quiet conversation.

She blew out the tiny flame that licked the bottom of her metal teapot and wrapped the pot in its cozy. She brought out a small tin off one of her shelves, next to the flowers she had received from the Professor for her birthday, now dried. “Would you like one?” she asked, tugging off the lid to reveal soft cookies made of dried fruits and and a sticky sweet dough. They had been a recent experiment and while not incredible, they would do for the moment.

“Thanks,” Ingrid said, taking one. She nibbled on it, and then set it on the edge of her saucer. She balanced it carefully in her lap. “You know I used to be engaged to Felix’s brother, before his death.”

“Yes. I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you,” Ingrid said softly, and she took a sip of her tea. “When we were engaged it was… a chaste romance. I was young and there were enough years between us that neither of us were interested in going past, well…”

“I understand what you mean,” Mercedes said, leaning in slightly. She was careful to keep her tea steady. She was beginning to guess at Ingrid’s thoughts, but she held her tongue. Best not to make assumptions.

“Now, though, I have _feelings_ for someone else. And we’re doing things, and I like them, but I don’t know what I’m doing.” Ingrid’s face was turning red and she turned her head to her lap. “And I was thinking, you’re a little older than the rest of us, maybe you could give—no _._ I think I just need someone to talk to about this.” She sounded so much less confident than normal. Ingrid was normally so self-assured, and she understood herself well enough to know exactly what her dream was.

Mercedes reached out one hand and settled it on Ingrid’s knee. “I’m always here to listen. I don’t have a lot of experience, and I’m still figuring out my own feelings, so I don’t know if I can help. But I’ll always support you.”

“That means a lot, Mercedes. Thank you,” Ingrid said, lifting her head. “I’m mostly happy and excited, but sometimes I feel guilty, like I’m abandoning Glenn’s memory. And it’s so silly, he wouldn’t want me to mourn forever. _I_ don’t want to mourn forever. But I still can’t talk to Felix, or Sylvain, or even His Highness. Because they knew Glenn. We’re all still mourning, in our own ways.”

“He must have been very dear to you all,” Mercedes said. “I know I can’t stop the feelings of guilt, but I can promise, no one who loves you wants you to be sad when they’re gone.”

“It helps,” Ingrid said. “Maybe my heart will always be a little split, but I am genuinely happy.”

“I’ve always found that loving more than one person means your love is doubled, not halved,” Mercedes said. “Can I ask who your beau is? I admit, I’m very curious who could have charmed you.”

“It doesn’t leave this room,” Ingrid said, and Mercedes nodded. Then, so softly Mercedes had to hold her breath to hear it, Ingrid said, “Ashe.”

Mercedes couldn’t help her smile. Ashe had been mooning over Ingrid nearly the whole year, and he was so sweet. If Ingrid was happy with him, this could very well be a perfect match. 

“It feels so good to tell someone,” Ingrid said, laughing a little. “Thank you.”

“Anything for a friend,” Mercedes said, taking a bite out of her cookie.

“I feel bad coming here and dumping all this on you, though. If there’s anything you need to talk about, I’m happy to listen.” Ingrid met her eyes for the first time since they started talking, and Mercedes made a decision. She needed to at least talk about what she had been feeling lately.

“I’ve had some confusing feelings of my own,” she said. “I think I’m interested in two people. They’re not the same feeling, but they’re very similar.” Something in her chest got tight and nervous, but Ingrid’s expression was briefly surprised before shifting to understanding. “It did feel better to say it out loud,” Mercedes marvelled. “Thank you, Ingrid.”

They drank the rest of their tea in comfortable silence.

-.-

Annette hurried into the greenhouse. She was supposed to be weeding between afternoon class and dinner, and she had dallied a little too long, dreading the walk. At this point the cold wasn’t even novel anymore. She was just sick of it. But the greenhouse was still miraculously warm, so once the doors were closed she started unwinding her scarf and hanging all her warm clothes up. She had taken the time to change from her winter stockings to her work trousers (with another pair of stockings underneath), so when she collapsed into the dirt she wasn’t making a mess of herself.

She wound her fingers around the biggest, ugliest weed she could find (which was rather small, honestly. Everyone took care to keep their gardens well-tended) and jerked on it. It came up, roots and all, and Annette tossed it to the dusty stone floor. “Stupid Felix,” she muttered. “Stupid.”

“Stupid what?” Felix said, and Annette nearly jumped out of her skin. She looked slowly over her shoulder and saw Felix glaring at her. Or maybe it was his usual expression, it could be hard to tell. 

“O-oh, Felix!” Annette said. She could feel her voice getting higher and higher. “Isn’t it Dedue’s day to do the weeding?”

“We traded,” Felix said. “He’s covering for me on Monday.”

“Right, for the feast of sweets tomorrow?” she said, meeting Felix’s eyes. “Are you going to be there?”

“I don’t like sweets,” Felix said briskly. He turned away from her abruptly and went back to his patch of earth.

“Right,” Annette said, mostly disappointed. She felt a little silly. Felix had always turned down sweets when offered. Why would a feast of them be any more interesting to him? “What about Sylvain’s pub crawl?”

“I didn’t say I wasn’t going to the feast,” Felix said suddenly. “I just won’t have any sweets.”

“Oh, that’s good.” Annette bit her tongue. The awkwardness was killing her. If she didn’t have weeding to do and the horrible cold keeping her in the greenhouse, she’d step outside for a breather. 

After a few minutes, Felix said, “Do you know how to drink?”

“Um. Put it in your mouth and swallow, right?” Annette replied. 

“Do you even drink alcohol?” he said, sounding more curious than anything.

“I had a little wine at my uncle’s fancy dinners, and I like the mead from the dining hall.”

“That mead isn’t strong enough to get anyone drunk, even you,” Felix said, his voice surprisingly light.

“And you know how to drink?” Annette couldn’t help but ask. 

“Yeah,” Felix said, offering no further explanation. Annette tugged another weed out of the dirt. Dirt was getting caught under her nails.

“How are you supposed to drink alcohol?” she asked. The very idea that someone would need to learn how to drink alcohol sounded so strange. 

“I’ll teach you, during the pub crawl. If you tell me why I’m stupid.”

“Ugh,” Annette groaned, tossing another weed aside. “I can ask someone else.” She gathered all the weeds she’d left scattered on the floor and walked them to the compost bin. She held her nose when she tossed them in.

While she walked back to her plot of dirt she dusted her hands and hummed. She didn’t have a greenhouse song yet, but there was an idea in the back of her mind. She thought she stopped before she got into Felix’s hearing range, but when she knelt down to look for signs of disease, he said, “A new composition?”

The hair on the back of her neck stood on end and she resisted the impulse to deny it. Felix already knew she sang and while she still wary that he might reveal her foolish ditties to the rest of her classmates, so far he’d not humiliated her.

“It doesn’t have lyrics yet,” she mumbled instead. “Can’t think of anything good enough.”

“They’ll come to you,” Felix said. “You’re good at thinking them up.”

The compliment made Annette’s tummy flip, the same way she had felt the first time she rode a pegasus. She felt a little sick, in a good way.

“My lyrics are all about silly things,” she said. 

“That’s why I like them,” Felix said, and Annette wasn’t sure if Felix was making fun or her or, unbelievably, being honest. She wasn’t sure if she was embarrassed or thrilled. But whatever the feeling was, it made it hard to talk.


	5. 5th Day of the Ethereal Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Feast of Sweets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> remember when i said i had one fuck of a schedule. well.
> 
> also, this chapter is just a rip-off of the great british bake-off, aka the best television show. in canon the ball only gets mentioned on the 6th, so i needed something dumb and fun to fill in the rest of the week before that. also this fic is nothing but things i like which are dumb and fun.

The dining hall was full of excited tittering and the sweet, warm scents of baking breads and treats. Between the excitement for the feast of sweets and the relative warmth of the morning, it was hard not to be full of cheer. Byleth had worn a colourful pair of tights and a skirt that ended below her knees in celebration, and her students had been full of cheer when they arrived for morning class. She’d given her students the afternoon to work independently before the start of a new subject, and the bakers had left to begin their happy work.

And it seemed that Claude had given the feast his best efforts. When Byleth strolled into the dining hall, lured in early by the smell of baking, the Golden Deer had been hard at work moving tables. A short table had been placed at the front of the hall near the kitchen door for the judges to sit. Hilda was currently sitting on the table, legs crossed, dressed in a warm, pretty dress instead of the winter uniform. 

“Professor!” she called, waving Byleth over. “Claude asked me to be a host for tonight’s feast, I hope you don’t mind,” she said. “I would have given the job to someone else—maybe Annette, she knows about baking, right?—but Claude _insisted_ I take the job. Something about being unbiased.” She shrugged and crossed her legs the other way. 

“I’m certain you will do well,” Byleth said. Hilda looked affronted, of all things.

“I will have you know my parties were the talk of the town back in House Goneril! I am nothing if not an excellent hostess. Then again, I guess you don’t know much about the nobility and their parties. Especially if you’re hanging around the _Faerghus_ nobles.”

Byleth tilted her head to the side, curious. She knew very little about any Fódlan noble practices beyond Crests and arranged marriages. “Parties?”

“A chance to mingle, build relationships, make everyone feel more unified,” Hilda explained, as though to an obstinate teen. “Being a Leicester noble means knowing all about being a good host. Serving the good wine on a cousin’s birthday might mean valuable favours down the line.” She winked. Byleth couldn’t help but feel that was a little silly, but then she was a mercenary and liked more concrete favours, as a rule. 

“The bakers are almost finished!” Claude called from the kitchen. 

“Exciting!” squealed Hilda, clapping her hands together. 

“Hilda, I must ask that you stop sitting on the judge’s table,” Lysithea said, coming from behind the table and pulling out a chair. She plunked into place and Hilda slipped off the table, smoothing her skirt as she stepped from foot-to-foot in an effort to find her footing. She was wearing boots with shockingly high heels to them.

“Well, only a few minutes until everyone shows up,” Hilda said. “Showtime. I hope everything goes well for the bakers. You should take a seat, Professor, before the good spots are taken."

Byleth took the suggestion, settling herself near the judges’ table and watched as students and faculty filtered in. Hanneman took a seat beside Byleth, though he was already in a conversation with himself about a new theory about Crests. Byleth let him talk, no reason to interrupt him when he'd notice her soon enough.

And after a minute, Hanneman said, “Ah, Professor! I see the feast has yet to begin. Have you been waiting long?”

“No, I’ve only been here ten minutes,” Byleth answered. “I think things will start when all the judges are here.” Hilda was guiding Manuela to the judges’ table, leaving only Linhardt absent. Byleth could see Claude standing in the doorway to the kitchen, glancing back and forth between the kitchen and the judges’ table.

“Of course,” Hanneman agreed. “And doesn’t it smell wonderful. I’m not a baking enthusiast, but recently I’ve gained a new admiration for the artform. It takes no small amount of skill to turn inedible raw ingredients into something pleasurable. I’ve no skill for it myself,” he explained, “and so it has always been a blind spot in my life.”

Byleth nodded and let Hanneman continue talking. During the hottest moons there had been a few times all the students had camped in the open air for survival training, and Manuela had been the one to teach the students how to prepare nutritious meals people would actually willingly eat while in the wilderness. Byleth’s own cooking skills were merely passable in comparison, and Hanneman had confessed to a severe lack of talent in the field.

“Oh, it appears we’re starting,” Hanneman said as Linhardt drifted up to the judges’ table. Claude was ushering Mercedes from the kitchen with Raphael and ignatz close behind, bearing plates filled with treats.

“Mercedes!” Hilda said, strolling behind the judges’ table as the plates were set down. “Do you want to introduce your sweets for us? Do you have a theme?”

“Oh, I didn’t realise I was supposed to have a theme,” Mercedes said, turning so she didn’t have her back turned to the rest of the dining hall. “I just made some of my favourite sweets, with some guidance from a friend to be a little ambitious. My biscuits are a shortbread with a little chocolate,” she said, and Byleth could see Lysithea snapping a long shortbread half covered in chocolate in half. “I also made a shortcake with some apricot preserves and fried my sweet buns in oil and filled them with a berry jam.”

This collection of sweets always sounded delectable, and the smell coming from the judges’ table was too good. Manuela was biting into one of the buns, and jam leaked out of the hole in the back. She licked it off her finger. “Mercedes, these are excellent. Serving the buns with the jam inside makes for an excellent contrast of the mild, yeasty sweetness of the bun and the tartness of the jam.” She laid the bun on her plate and cut the end she bit off from the rest, which she split and handed to Lysithea and Linhardt. Lysithea’s eyes lit up as she popped the bun and jam in her mouth.

There was some discussion amongst the judges, too quiet for Byleth to really make it out. Mercedes nodded along to what they said, smiling serenely. She ducked her head in a sweet imitation of a bow when they were done, and Raphael and Ignatz moved the plates to the long tables where the students were waiting. Mercedes took a seat elsewhere in the dining hall. 

Raphael laid the shortcake near Byleth and she couldn’t help but admire the decoration. A thin slice had been removed and shared by the judges, but otherwise it was an immaculate cake, with the golden apricot preserves only just visible between the layers of the cake. Mercedes had decorated it further with little swirls of whipped cream. Without having to ask, Hanneman cut her a slice. At this point, her appetite was well-known to the school.

When the sweets had begun to be shared, Claude brought out Ashe. Byleth wasn’t sure, but she thought he looked a little uneasy. He glanced over the dining hall and something must have caught his eye, because he nodded and looked a little more sure of himself. Hilda prompted him to introduce his sweets. 

“My sister’s birthday is the day after tomorrow,” Ashe said, “so I decided to make some of her favourites.”

“Brotherly love,” sighed Hilda. “How sweet.”

“Well, yes,” said Ashe. “This is a white cake with whipped cream and chocolate shavings, these are her favourite walnut cookies, and sweet rolls with dried fruit baked in.” He pointed to each sweet in turn, and the judges shared a biscuit, a roll, and a small slice of the cake between them. 

“Your rolls are underproved,” Linhardt said coolly. “But there is a lot of fruit in here. Did you put any spices in here?”

“Some cinnamon and rosemary,” Ashe answered. “I’m not very used to cinnamon, did I add too much?”

“No, it tastes fine,” Linhardt assured. He didn’t say anything else, and Ashe looked a little unsettled again. 

After another few minutes of quiet discussion Manuela thanked Ashe, something Hilda repeated loudly so the whole dining hall could hear, and a smattering of applause broke out for Ashe as his sweets were set on the long tables. Mercedes’ shortcake had gone further down the table, and Ashe’s sweet rolls were laid in front of Byleth instead. She took one and passed the plate down the table. It was sweet with bursts of flavour from the dried fruits, and a hint of warmth from the spices.

Just as the rolls went out of reach, Seteth took a seat in the spot across from her. The angle made for a poor view of the table, so no one had sat there. 

“Seteth,” Byleth said.

“Professor,” he said in a brief acknowledgement. “Has Flayn gone up yet?” he asked.

Claude answered the question for her, in a way, by bringing out Flayn. Byleth turned her attention back to the judges’ table but she heard Seteth give a little relieved sigh.

Flayn’s sweets looked a little less polished than Mercedes’ pretty biscuits or Ashe’s white cake, but Byleth was hardly about to judge. She only knew how to make a handful of dishes that all looked awful, even if they tasted fine. 

“I wished to make sweets that would express my gratitude to you all,” Flayn said, curtseying to the dining hall full of students and faculty. “I hope my feelings can reach you through what I’ve made: sweet rolls with a honey glaze, a chocolate cake, and my mother’s sea biscuits.”

Hilda had her hand over her heart. She was practically melting at the sweetness.

Manuela sliced into a slightly over-burdened chocolate cake, while Lysithea was attempting to rip open a sweet roll. Linhardt’s eyes were wide as he snapped off a piece of the round biscuit and ate it. At no point did the judges raise their voices loud enough for the room to hear, and when Byleth looked up to Hilda, still standing behind the judges, she looked uncomfortable.

Byleth looked over to Seteth, who was leaning awkwardly to catch sight of Flayn. He looked obviously concerned. And, well, Flayn’s cooking had never impressed. All the students were responsible for helping with the kitchen on a rotating schedule, and while Dedue and Mercedes were getting more and more responsibilities and freedoms, Flayn was still relegated to peeling potatoes and scrubbing pots. Excluding her would have been unkind, but Byleth could only hope that Lysithea and Linhardt, neither known for their tact, would not be thoughtlessly cruel to Flayn. 

Whatever was said, Linhardt raised his voice at the end to thank Flayn, which Hilda repeated, clapping enthusiastically. The rest of the room followed her lead, including Byleth. Meanwhile, Flayn turned away from Byleth’s table, so she and Seteth could not see her expression as she made her way to another table. 

Hanneman suddenly said, “Seteth, perhaps you should wait until Dedue has presented. Then you can go speak to Flayn without drawing as much attention to her.” Byleth turned and saw Seteth settling back down at the table.

“Yes, pardon me,” Seteth said. “It wouldn’t be fair to Dedue either.”

And Dedue came up with his stacks of sweets, followed again by Raphael and Ignatz. When the sweets were set down and the judges began trying them, Lysithea burst out, “I have an objection! Neither the biscuit or bun is sweet!”

“I do not have many dessert recipes,” Dedue said, “forgive me. I’ve made a seed cracker, herb buns with dried tomatoes, and a sticky spice cake.”

Manuela still had some of the roll in her mouth as she said, “What you’ve made isn’t what we expected, but it is excellent.” Linhardt passed the slice of cake in front of Manuela to Lysithea, who looked far more pleased when she tried a forkful of the cake.

“Are these flavours from Duscur?” Linhardt asked.

“These are not Duscur recipes, they are my own take on Fódlan baking. I suppose they may still have some Duscur influence.” Dedue’s posture was stiff and his expression was stern. Had Claude told him to take this seriously? Either way, Byleth’s curiosity was rising. Dedue cooked Duscur recipes so rarely, and the novelty of the flavours kept Byleth keenly interested in his cooking.

The plate of Flayn’s biscuits seemed to have started at the other end of the table, and now it had reached them. While the judges spoke quietly, Byleth tried one of the biscuits. It looked plain, a simple round biscuit with a glossy, dark brown coating on top and white flakes sprinkled across. She took a bite and her eyes fell shut and her toes curled in her boots. The biscuit was crumbly and buttery, melting away on her tongue. On top was a layer of something sweet and sticky, but the sweetness was mellowed and complex. The flakes on top were salt. As they touched her tongue it was like getting a burst of contrast, but the salt and the sweet blended wonderfully as she chewed. 

Byleth opened her eyes and reached for a drink of water. When she took her second bite she wanted to have a clean palate. 

In the midst of her biscuit revelation, the rest of the students started applauding. Byleth clapped along and watched as the sticky ginger spice cake was brought to her table, but the other end. She passed along Flayn’s magnificent biscuits to the next table, handing them off to Marianne. 

Seteth stood up to leave and Byleth held out her hand for him to pause. He did so long enough for her to swallow.

“Please tell Flayn her biscuits are excellent,” she said. 

“I will. She will appreciate the compliment coming from you.” Seteth left the table. All around, the sounds of chatter were starting to rise.

“Everyone, leave the sweets at your table and go around to try the other ones!” Hilda called, her voice cutting through the rumble of conversation. And, well, Byleth only needed to be told once. She picked up her plate and little spoon and stood up, getting a better view of the dining hall. She made a beeline for Dedue’s cake, cutting a slice for herself and stepping aside as she tasted it. It tasted warm, with a heavy, earthy sweetness to it. Dedue must have soaked the cake in a spiced syrup of some sort, because it was as sticky as promised. Byleth couldn’t pick apart all the spices, but she did notice there was a peculiar almost-spiciness to it. Her mouth felt pleasantly warm as she ate.

Looking across the room again, she could see her Lions clustered together, bakers and hungry audience alike. Except Cyril, who was sitting alone at the end of the third table and watching the judges with an unfocused, dazed look. Byleth glanced over and saw Linhardt and Manuela in discussion, and Lysithea smiling to herself as she continued eating one of the cakes. She wondered if Cyril had already eaten himself into a daze, despite only having access to a handful of the treats. 

Byleth toured the tables cheerfully, first for the biscuits (none of them matched Flayn’s, but Mercedes’ and Ashe’s would make delightful tea snacks, while Dedue’s seed crisps were a wonderful savoury surprise) and then for the cakes (Flayn’s was heavy and underbaked, but the others were lovely). At last, she searched the tables for the sweet rolls. Flayn’s were hardly touched, and were rather tough. Hardly the worst, but hardly equal to those revelatory biscuits either. Dedue’s dried tomato herb buns were soft and chewy and delicious. Byleth wanted to eat it with soup.

But try as she might, she could not find the plate of Mercedes’ fried sweet buns. Had she been too slow, and they were already gone? It was foolish to be disappointed, but she couldn’t help it. After the approval of the judges, Byleth had needed to know what a fried sweet bun filled with jam would taste like. She would just have to be disappointed, she supposed. 

There was a tap on her shoulder and she turned around to see Claude. He was holding a fried sweet bun. 

“I saved the last one,” he said. “Organiser’s privilege.” He winked and tore the bun in half. Jam oozed over both halves. He handed the larger half to her and watched as she carefully bit into it. It was exactly as Manuela said. The contrast of the bun and the jam was incredible. A little contented sigh escaped her. Claude was still watching, though for once Byleth got the impression he wasn’t silently doing sums. He was just enjoying something sweet with her.

“Thank you,” she said, giving Claude a little quirk of her lip.

The feast lasted a little while yet. Most of the students were talking and sharing their treats, which went slower than Byleth’s eat-first-talk-maybe strategy. She went back to her original position, going past Cyril. At some point he must have gotten up to pick out sweets, but he was back to watching the judges’ table. Byleth seated herself and found herself in the midst of a conversation between Seteth and Hanneman about the quality of the sweets. After listening for a moment Byleth couldn’t understand exactly what they were doing. They seemed to be more interested in comparing their own knowledge of cooking than the baked goods themselves. 

How odd, Hanneman and Seteth usually got on rather well when not discussing Crests. 

Hilda called for everyone’s attention and the students grew quiet. Some of them sat down. 

“The judges have something to say!” she announced. 

Linhardt stood up. “After trying all the cakes, we’ve decided Ashe’s had the best mix of flavour and presentation.” Byleth tried to see Ashe crowded by some of the students. Caspar was giving him a huge pat on the back. There was some scattered applause.

Lysithea stood up next. “By unanimous decision, we’ve decided that the best sweet buns were Mercedes’ fried, jam-filled buns.” 

Again, there was some scattered applause. Byleth could see Sylvain take Mercedes’ shoulder and smile broadly down at her. Annette was practically jumping in place.

Manuela stood up last. “By another unanimous decision, we’ve decided the best biscuits were Flayn’s.” The applause was a little louder this time, and Byleth saw Flayn’s hands up in front of her mouth. She looked shocked. Manuela didn’t sit down, though.

“We also have one more commendation to give. Dedue, all three of your offerings were in second place. We want to tell you that you were the most creative and consistent baker, and that everyone you made was excellent.” She smiled. When Byleth found Dedue, he was a little far away for her to judge his expression clearly. But Dimitri was giving Dedue a pat on the back, and the other bakers were crowding him with big smiles on their faces. 

“Congratulations to all the bakers!” Hilda shouted, and everyone applauded loudly. Byleth felt a smile tug on her cheeks. Maybe it was just the fun of sweets for dinner, but she hadn’t felt this good in a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just for clarity: mercedes made jelly-filled donuts, flayn made salted caramel. i'm pretty sure byleth doesn't know either of those words, so i had to write around them.


	6. 6th Day of the Ethereal Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is a pub crawl. There is also some kissing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hahaha. haha. gosh. i will finish this fic if it kills me. but gosh. i bit off way more than i can chew. oh well.

Saturday usually meant chores and assignments for Mercedes, and she did spend the majority of her day hard at work. But as the afternoon wound down Sylvain breezed past her in the courtyard, patting her on the shoulder as he went. He turned back to her and walked backwards.

"The pub crawl is on!" he said, beaming. "See you at the gate at dinnertime."

And, well, how could she say no to an invitation like that? So Mercedes wrapped up in her scarf and mittens and waited outside Annette's dorm as the darkness of the evening settled around them.

“One minute!” Annette called from inside her dorm. And it really was only a minute before she threw her door open and locked it hurriedly behind her. Annette had changed from the winter uniform to some of her own clothes, from the look of it. Mercedes recognised Annette’s ankle-long, patterned skirt from their days at Firhdiad’s magic school. Annette opened up one of her mittened hands to Mercedes and smiled when Mercedes dropped her own hand in hers. 

“I wonder how we’re going to have a pub crawl in the village?” Annette pondered. 

“Sylvain assured me it could be done,” Mercedes answered, at which point Annette made a face. 

“Yeah, I guess Sylvain would know about that.” She laughed and swung their joined hands. Without the wind or the terrible chill the walk to the gate was downright pleasant, with the last hints of sunlight lighting their way. 

Sylvain was waiting at the gate, of course, with Dedue and Dimitri standing near him. There seemed to be a bit of a conversation going on, though the boys stopped talking as Mercedes and Annette approached. 

“Ladies,” Sylvain said, giving the girls a brief nod in greeting. “Once Felix, Ingrid, and Ashe get here we’ll be good to go. I’ve got a fun evening planned,” he said, winking. 

“I’ve been looking forward to this all day,” Annette said brightly. “Now that the weather is good, we can finally go down to the village again.”

Sylvain sounded off a “hear hear!” at Annette’s statement, while Dimitri started waving and calling out to Ingrid and Felix as they got nearer. 

When Ashe finally arrived, panting from his sprint across the monastery grounds, their party went through the gates and down the hillside to the village. The climb down was a little too intense for Mercedes’ comfort, and she focused on finding her footing and keeping up instead of participating in the conversation happening around her. 

“Did you see the notice posted on the bulletin board by the classrooms?” Sylvain said, prompting the conversation. “I wasn’t sure we’d be having a ball this year, but I guess the faculty decided we deserved something nice for a change.”

“It’s a distraction,” Felix dismissed, at the same time Ashe said, “It’s rather exciting!” Mercedes had to agree with Ashe more on this point. Distraction it might be, but given the terrible events of the year it was nice to have some grand party to look forward to. And she was hardly too proud to admit she liked the images of romance and opulence that the ball provoked. Even if she danced alone all evening, being able to dance in the one fine dress she had been told to bring along with her to some pretty music in the beautiful hall would be more than enough.

“I hope I can dance with all of you!” Annette said, doing a little skip and then nearly falling when she touched down on an icy stone. Her arms flailed and Mercedes caught one, while Ingrid caught the other.

“Only if you don’t mind dancing with some of the worst dancers in Fódlan,” Ingrid said. “I’ve never gotten more than the basic steps, and I don’t remember Felix or His Highness doing any better during their debuts.” There was a hint of teasing in her voice. She must have been in high spirits. Perhaps she was still in good cheer from yesterday’s feast, Mercedes speculated. 

“The school will almost certainly provide some basic lessons,” Dimitri said, “to make sure everyone is familiar with the same basic steps. The ball isn’t until the end of the month, so there is time to practice if you wish to dance.”

“Do _you_ wish to dance?” Sylvain prodded, stepping up to walk alongside Dimitri, on the side not occupied by Dedue.

“If the ball is anything like the ones I have been to, I suppose I’ll have no choice,” Dimitri said. He sounded exasperated, something that took Mercedes a moment to realise. Dimitri had never sounded so _put upon_ before, and for such a small thing. 

They stumbled their way the rest of their way to the village while discussing the different dance steps they might be expected to know. Mercedes’ knowledge of formal dance was patchwork, but it was nice to hear the nobles’ list of steps and realise she had at least passing knowledge of most of them. 

When the path evened out Sylvain took the lead, guiding their party through the dark village. Some light spilled through the occasional window, but for the most part the darkness of night had settled in around them. In the darkness, on an unfamiliar route, Mercedes wasn’t certain she could find her way back, but Sylvain seemed to know where he was going.

Annette slipped her mittened hand into Mercedes’, a comforting gesture even if it was mostly meant to keep them together on the unfamiliar path and make sure neither of them took a tumble on the patches of ice. 

“Ladies and the rest, we have arrived!” Sylvain announced, sweeping his arm towards the pub tucked into a line of shops. The sight clicked into place in Mercedes’ mental map of the village and she was suddenly reoriented. It felt odd. She was facing west when she was certain she had been going north. 

The students made their way into the pub, stomping snow from their boots and pulling off hats and mittens. Mercedes peeled off her coat, settling it over her arm. There were three pubs in the village Garreg Mach: the one with the good food, the one with the good booze, and the third one. Sylvain had taken them to the pub with the best chef, and he was extolling the virtues of the menu to Ashe and Dedue, who were both listening seriously. A small worry in Mercedes’ chest settled. She hadn’t assumed the worst of Sylvain taking them out to drink, but she was certain that Ashe and Annette had had few occasions to drink alcohol and wouldn’t be aware of the dangers of drinking on an empty stomach. It seemed that Sylvain already taken that into consideration.

An older man came to their table to tell them what was available for dinner. It sounded like a scrumptious menu, as promised.

“We’ll take one of everything and share the costs,” Sylvain said, not even glancing at the rest of them. When the man walked away, Sylvain turned back to them. “That way we can sample everything. The food here is probably better than the monastery’s,” he said. “Also, dinner’s gonna cost…” He turned his head up a little, staring at the ceiling as he did some sums in his head. He threw out a number that was remarkably low, though Mercedes supposed sharing four plates eight ways would do that. She picked some coins from the purse held in her deep skirt pocket, and she and the others tossed them into a pile at the centre of the table. 

In a lull in the conversation, still waiting for their dinner, Annette cleared her throat suddenly and announced to the table, “The music society is having their recital on Tuesday. We practiced _really_ hard and hope we can see you there.” 

It was not a surprise announcement for most of them, not with half the Blue Lions already in the music society. But Dimitri gave Annette a soft smile and said, “Of course, we’ll all be there to support you.” Annette beamed at the affirmation.

“I thought I heard music coming from somewhere,” Ingrid said, looking like she’d just solved a small mystery. “When did you start this society?”

“Remember the Battle of the Eagle and the Lion?” Annette prompted. It was a good memory, and Mercedes could see most of her peers smiling at the memory. The Blue Lions had been victorious, thanks to the leadership of their Professor. When the battle had concluded it had been far too late in the day to consider the long march back to the monastery, so everyone had been forced to camp.

“After we all went to a tavern to celebrate, right? Well, not all of us,” Annette conceded. Some of the more self-conscious nobles had elected to stay behind, but the Blue Lions had been joined by most of their peers in the other houses. There hadn’t been much drinking under the watchful eyes of the teachers who came along (although Mercedes certainly saw nearly everyone sneaking some sort of drink), but there had been feasting and dancing and singing. Especially when Ashe had, unprompted, taken up the fiddle on the stage and joined the band. Dorothea joined as well to sing through some spirited jigs and a few slower tunes. Mercedes remembered vividly dancing a jig with the Professor with other students clapping and whooping at their performance. It had been the first time she’d really felt that the Professor was an ordinary person.

“That was a very good night,” Dedue said, his usually stern expression softened by the memories.

“Well, after some of us got together and thought it would be fun to make music together as a group. We’re doing some dancing music, but we’ve also learned some classics,” Annette said. 

There was some discussion about the compositions they would be performing, something Mercedes was glad to participate in. Since the church choir already performed hymns, their music society had chosen to perform non-religious classics and folk music. Dorothea and Professor Manuela had been essential in determining what sort of music their ensemble was capable of. 

When dinner arrived Mercedes felt her mouth water. There was a rich beef stew served with a small loaf of bread and butter with flakes of salt, a potato-and-veggie pie full of savoury gravy, a small pile of fish battered and fried and set alongside steamed vegetables, and some kind of white meat skewers served alongside tart jam and a spicy sauce. The plates went around the table, everyone getting the chance to sample each food. At Sylvain’s request, a jug of cider was brought out.

Talk was limited while everyone was eating. All of them had hearty appetites, and the pub’s kitchen did excellent work. Between each taste Mercedes sipped water and cider to cleanse her palate, and eating slowly seemed to sate her appetite just as well as eating a lot of food quickly. 

Ingrid and Felix were glaring at each other over the final skewer and Dimitri was finishing off his glass of cider. Annette looped Mercedes into a conversation with Ashe about whether the monastery or pub offered the better food. She was rather in favour of the pub at the moment, although she doubted the pub would have allowed her and her friends to host a baking competition, a rather strong point in the monastery’s favour. Annette was defending the monastery while Ashe was comparing the two. From the corner of her eye, Mercedes half-noticed Sylvain stop the man who had served them and speak quickly to him.

The mystery did not last long. The man came back with an entire cake on a platter, which he set on the table. 

“Ah, excellent!” Dimitri said. The rest of the table fell quiet at his words. “I thought I should thank you properly for making such a wonderful feast yesterday. The last time everyone had that much fun must have been after the Battle of the Eagle and Lion.”

“Speak for yourself,” groused Felix.

“Although, now that I think of it, perhaps cake isn’t the ideal gift,” Dimitri said, looking a little embarrassed.

“It’s wonderful!” Mercedes said, now that she could smell it properly. Whatever it was, it was dense with fruit and spices. 

“Thank you, Your Highness,” Dedue said, bowing his head a little. And perhaps everyone was a little tired of sweets after yesterday’s feasting, but seven of them happily shared the cake while Felix got the last of the cider. 

-.-

After a pleasant dinner and some light drinking Ingrid felt content, but Sylvain insisted this was only the first act of their adventure. And so, of course, the Blue Lions were huddled in a booth of the pub best known for its alcohol selection. In theory they were playing a drinking game as well, but Sylvain’s first suggestion of playing a game of truths (whoever had _not_ done a specified act would be forced to drink) was quickly squashed between her and Dimitri’s protests that Sylvain could make the game very lewd very fast.

Then Annette had produced a deck of playing cards, and the Lions were attempting to concoct a drinking game that could be played with the cards.

“There are eight suits, correct?” Dedue asked. Annette nodded, fanning out the deck in an effort to show them. The pub was dark, but Ingrid was already familiar with this kind of deck; hearts and tiles in red, clovers and leaves in green, bells and stars in gold, and pikes and shields in black. 

“Then perhaps we can each choose a suit, and the number corresponds to the number of drinks we take as a penalty,” Dedue said, prompting Sylvain to reach awkwardly across the table to pat his arm in what seemed to be a foolish sort of congratulation. Two ciders and half a mead deep, Ingrid could follow the suggested rules for the most part, and Felix (crushed between Sylvain and Annette) kept insisting on keeping things simple. Perhaps he was already affected; he was already somewhat flushed. 

Going around the table, each of them took turns flipping over the top card of the deck and giving each other challenges. A lot of the challenges were variations on telling some embarrassing or otherwise concealed truth. Ingrid drank a large number of penalty sips to avoid a question on her childhood pet’s name, a question prompted by Felix. She was hardly about to announce to her friends that she once saw fit to name her fat, old cat Sir Pussy.

Next, Dedue drew a card, getting Dimitri’s clover. He seemed rather flustered.

“Go on, Dedue, give me a challenge,” Dimitri said, grinning. Ingrid could only barely see him, even though they were hip-to-hip (and she had Ashe on her other side, which was more distracting than she cared to admit). She had been watching his alcohol intake and Dimitri hadn’t had very much, but he seemed much more relaxed from what she could see. Perhaps he hadn’t built up the tolerance the rest of her childhood friends had. 

Dedue paused for a moment, before saying, “Then I challenge you to a sparring match tomorrow.”

“Challenge accepted,” Dimitri said cheerily, taking another card from the stack. He flipped it over and got a star, Ashe’s suit. Ingrid privately thought the star was a very funny suit for Ashe, given the constellations on his face, but she kept the joke (and her smile) to herself. 

“Ashe, I challenge you to use my name for the rest of the night,” Dimitri said, leaning forward to see Ashe past Ingrid. She pressed back uncomfortably. 

“Oh, uh, of course, Your—Dimitri,” Ashe said awkwardly. Dimitri smiled again at Ashe’s attempt. Ingrid wasn’t sure she’d seen Dimitri smile this much before. Even as a child he’d been rather serious.

It was Ingrid’s turn to draw a card, and when she turned it over she saw the leaf. Mercedes’ little “oh!” was a useful reminder that she had gotten the leaf. Ideas fluttered in Ingrid’s mind for an appropriate challenge. Most of the challenges thus far had followed the “answer the next question truthfully” form, but Ingrid wasn’t sure Mercedes had any secrets that would be _fun_ to dig up, and most questions centred on romance, anyways. Finally, something acceptably silly came to mind. 

“Can you cartwheel?” Ingrid asked, and when Mercedes nodded Ingrid beamed. “Then how about a cartwheel contest?”

“There’s no room,” Sylvain reminded her. And, well, fine. She’d had too much alcohol and her sensibility was the first thing to go. 

“Then a match of roshambo, loser drinks,” she checked the card, “five sips.”

“You’re on,” Mercedes said, and the two girls leaned forward towards each other. They pounded the table three times and then threw out hand gestures. Ingrid gave the sign for lance, while Mercedes had thrown out the gesture for axe. There was a burst of delighted laughter around her and Ingrid gave up gracefully, taking her penalty drinks.

“Did you throw lance because you’re a lance-user?” Felix asked, looking incredulous. 

“I thought Mercedes would think that, but it’s so obvious that she’d try to counter sword. It was a double-bluff, but I guess I was thinking too hard about it.” The room was feeling a little too small, and everything was too loud. The alcohol here was definitely more potent than the monastery’s, and Ingrid was feeling woozy.

“I’m gonna go outside for a few minutes, it’s a little too loud in here,” she said suddenly. “Keep playing without me, I’ll do my challenges when I get back.” Ashe shuffled out of the booth to let her free, and Ingrid stepped out of the pub. It was cold, but she was protected from any wind by the building, so the chill was far more refreshing than anything else. The change in temperature brought her mind back, at any rate. 

She wasn’t alone for long. Ashe hustled out of the pub, her coat over his arm. Ah, she’d left it behind. She hadn’t even noticed, still warm from her drinks. Ashe turned left and right and when he saw her his face lit up and Ingrid felt her stomach flip as she realised all at once that Ashe had made that face when he saw her for nearly the entire year. She felt a new burst of affection for him, while Ashe fretted over her state of dress (she was wearing a warm dress and heavy stockings and excellent boots, she was hardly suffering). 

He insisted on helping her into her coat while Ingrid laughed, saying, “I feel fine, Ashe. You’re like a mother hen right now.” But she slid her arms into the sleeves and let Ashe wind the scarf around her neck. Impulsively, she kissed one of his constellations and beamed when he froze. Then his face melted into a smile and he blushed charmingly. 

“Are you okay?” he asked, still smiling sweetly. “You got out of there rather quickly.”

“I drank too much,” Ingrid confessed. “I was overwhelmed, I just needed somewhere quiet to get my head back on my shoulders. Thank you for bringing my coat.”

“Of course,” Ashe said. Then, hesitantly, he asked, “Do you want some company?”

Ingrid extended her bare hand (her mittens were stuffed in a pocket) and Ashe took it, weaving their fingers together. They stepped away from the pub, stopping near enough that they would be seen if someone else came out to find them, but there was very little light to illuminate them. Between the low light and the snow dampening all noise, Ingrid felt her senses returning. She still felt drunk, but now it was in the fun way. She turned to Ashe and kissed the tip of his nose, which felt cold.

“Ingrid,” he said with a little laugh. “What’s gotten into you?”

“Too much mead, I think,” Ingrid answered, stepping closer so she could see Ashe’s freckles in the low light. She knew the most important constellations above and none of them really matched the pattern on his face, but she couldn’t help but search anyways. Ashe’s hand settled on her upper arm, keeping her steady and also just a little away from him. 

“Ingrid—”

“I want to kiss you all the time,” she blurted, not sure she wanted to hear whatever Ashe was going to say in such a concerned way. She couldn’t help but giggle at the admission. “But we’re never alone.”

“I guess we’re alone now,” Ashe said. “But, are you okay?”

“I feel like someone undid all my knots,” Ingrid said, and she kissed Ashe. Her aim was off, but the corner of his lips were still soft. Where the ice-cold tip of her nose touched Ashe’s cheek she felt his face burning. He was always so prone to blushing. Ashe’s hand was tight on her arm and he was gripping her fingers tightly with the other. She wondered if he was going to push her away, but he only pulled back for a moment to bring their lips together properly.

It was a cold, dry kiss, but it was something. Ingrid tried to lean into it, but Ashe pulled away again.

“Ingrid,” he said, looking deeply worried. “You’re not yourself. We should go back to the monastery. Wait here.” And he let go of her, leaving her in the cold and the dark while he stepped back into the pub. When he emerged only a minute later, he burst into a smile—like a flower opening itself to the sun—when he saw her. 

“Everyone wishes you well, and Claude is there, so everyone will have a good time,” Ashe said, taking her hand. Together, they walked towards the monastery. It was a quiet walk. At some point Ingrid stopped them so she could pull on her mittens. Ashe spoke quietly to her, mostly about how Leicester folktales often read like more romantic versions of Faerghus’ stories, with poetry and music. Ingrid mostly kept her reading to the heroic legends, but she listened as best as she could. 

An hour later, Ingrid found herself sitting on Ashe’s bed, sipping water. He was sitting on his desk chair, an extra blanket over his shoulders, also nursing a cup of water while he kept an eye on her. She felt much less drunk, but also just not terrific. She had badly misjudged her tolerance for drink, and it was humiliating, even if she managed to get lucky and avoid repercussions in the morning.

“Feeling better?” Ashe asked carefully. He’d been checking up on her every so often, as though at any moment she could take a turn for the worse. 

“In a way,” she said. “I’m sorry for making you take care of me like this. I thought I had a stronger constitution than this.”

“Don’t apologise,” Ashe said, smiling with his eyes. “I don’t mind this at all. It’s kind of nice, just the two of us. I guess the others will be talking about this tomorrow, though.”

“Mercedes knows,” Ingrid said, stretching out to set down her empty cup. “About us. I don’t think she’ll tell anyone, though.” She flopped down into the mattress and Ashe sat down at the far end. One of his hands settled on her ankle. She was still wearing her stockings, but she wished very hard that she wasn’t. She wished a lot of things. “Can I stay here?” she asked, turning so she was looking at Ashe. He was red-cheeked and deeply kissable, looking at her with soft eyes. 

“I can sleep on the floor,” Ashe said agreeably. 

“No,” Ingrid said, trying to tell him what she wanted with her gaze alone. Ashe fell very quiet, but then he nodded a little. He stood up and turned his back to her and Ingrid saw him begin to strip down. She sat up and turned to face the wall instead, shimmying out of her heavy dress, until she was left in her thin chemise. She tugged off her stockings. Her heart was pounding. She had no intentions to do anything but sleep, but there was no way polite society would believe she had maintained her virtue if they knew. The thought made her stomach twist as she folded her clothes and set them on the edge of the bed, throwing the blanket over her and pressing close to the wall, so there would be enough room for Ashe.

He was undressed. His underclothes covered about the same amount of skin as her chemise, and they were hardly revealing. But they were so thin. Ashe put her clothes on his desk, blew out the trembling candle, and unfurled the spare blanket over the empty side of the bed. He slid under it. He was so close that Ingrid could feel her ears turn red in excitement and nervousness, but the second blanket was like armour, keeping them at a safe distance.

They were face to face, so near that Ingrid had to be careful to direct her breath away from his cheeks. Despite her intentions to sleep, her heart was pounding. 

“Can I kiss you?” Ashe whispered, looking straight at her. She nodded, and he leaned in. Their lips touched, and Ingrid felt a shiver go up her spine. He kissed her slowly, but there was intent behind it. She felt warm all the way to her toes as Ashe’s lips opened just slightly. Ingrid reined in her wildest impulses and responded to Ashe in kind, a perfect mirror of affection and desire. A bright, tingling feeling went up the back of her neck when Ashe pulled her bottom lip between hers. The blankets between them were hardly even a barrier, but it felt like she was entirely trapped, under the blanket, against the wall, between Ashe’s teeth. 

Something nudged her arm and Ingrid reached down, slipping her hand under the blanket and meeting Ashe’s hand. She wove their fingers together and clung to him, his tight grip keeping her hand from wandering despite the great temptation to touch.

She broke the kiss to catch her breath and met Ashe’s gaze in the darkness. She was arrested by the beauty of his eyes, and shocked by how dark they were. His grip on her hand tightened nearly to the point of pain, and he whispered, “I want so much.”

“I do, too,” Ingrid said in reply. She shuffled just a little nearer, pressing her forehead to his. It took both of them a very long time to fall asleep.


End file.
